The Curse.

Chapter 8 - The Interview.

She made her way to the Fairchilds residence on foot, not feeling nervous but excitement as she knew that once she had secured the position that she could continue to torment Sir Francis.

Placing the door in the painting hadn't been enough she was sure of that now, even after all this time. But last night, she had felt something change.

Could it possibly be that Sir Francis had been bold enough and had even dared to reveal himself to his descendants? Or was he beginning to hope that he could break the curse single-handedly?

As he could hardly put up a fight from his deathbed, let alone have built up the energy to reveal himself. When she had cursed him that night, his soul had been too debilitated from the onslaught of grief and despair that he had fallen into.

Also, the influenza she had brought back with her had weakened his physical strength, let alone his mental state.

She had supposedly cared for him single-handedly when he became ill, as the rest of the household staff had run for the hills, as they thought that he had the plague. Ha!

She had been shocked at the speed that the virus had taken effect, but that had only added to the thrill of seeing the one man responsible for her own suffering, put in the ground after only two weeks of illness

Rebecca had had no choice but to offer her services to the Fairchild after losing her home. Thanks to his penchant for losing at cards. Sir Francis had no idea that it was she who was to blame for the loss of his wife and child, the birth of which she had been present.

Thriving off the pain that his wife, Mary, had been enduring. But it had ended too soon she had also been weakened by the death of their eldest son Robert, whom she had learned had been killed in battle.

She stopped walking as she arrived at the gates, looking up he driveway towards the house, noting that nothing had changed as memory after memory began to hit her like a tidal wave.

She reached out and grabbed hold of the gate so that she didn't fall with the exhilaration of it. It was as though her entire life was flashing before her eyes, or maybe it was theirs.

'Maybe' She thought,'It is a premonition or a warning.' Nevertheless, she decided there and then to rid herself of the Fairchild family once and for all. She let go of the gate and continued up the driveway towards the house, any composed herself, steeling herself for coming face to face with Mr Samuel Fairchild.

As she drew closer to the house, she heard laughter coming from the kitchen. I will stop your laughter soon enough and permanently.' She thought to herself but outwardly smiling as she approached the front door.

She knocked on the door and stepped back, turning around to look at the front garden. From where she was standing on the threshold, she could see the roof of the cottage where she once lived and remembered the day she had been evicted.

which, in turn, brought back all of the hatred she felt towards this family rushing back, nearly letting it consume her, bringing on an air of defiance. She quickly subdued it as the front door behind her opened.

"Hello. Can I help you?" The young man asked.

"Hello. I'm Miss Rebecca Owens. I have an appointment with Mr Samuel Fairchild for the position of live-in housekeeper at 10 o clock." She said.

"He has been expecting you. Please come in

Miss Owens." Said Michael, moving aside to let her in. "I'm Michael. His son. My father won't be a moment."

A couple of minutes later, Samuel appeared from the kitchen.

"Dad. This is Miss Owens. She has come for the interview. "

"Hello. I'm Samuel Fairchild. You have already met my son. Michael." Dad said.

"Yes. And such a courteous young man, too." She said.

I blushed and shook her hand. Dad grinned and said, "Well. This won't be much of an interview, really, as you explained over the telephone that you were the previous housekeeper here and are already wise as to what duties are asked of you. So all we have to discuss is the size of your wage at the end of each week."

"Yes. I did. Mr Fairchild, and if I may be so bold as to say that, I hope to secure it. I am due to lose my home as the council has decided to demolish my home alongside others to build apartment blocks."

"Well. Then let us see what kind of agreement we can come to, shall we? But first things first, Miss Owens. Do you take tea or coffee?"

"Tea. two sugars and very little milk. Please, Mr Fairchild. Am I pressume that Michael shall be joining us?"

Before my Dad could answer for me, I replied.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Owens. Money matters are for adults. Us kids just enjoy spending it, right Dad?"

I could see Dad fighting with himself to keep his face straight. In the end, he managed to say: "That's right, son. Here you go, I meant to give you this earlier." Passing me his bank card. "Just don't go silly with it, and you know the number."

"Yes, Dad. I know the number, and i'm not guaranteeing that I won't go silly with it."

Tipping him a wink and smiling, he couldn't help but smile back as he got my meaning, and I got his. I turned to Miss Owens and said, "It's been a pleasure meeting you. Miss Owens and I sincerely hope that my Dad gives you the job as I would love to have you here."

"Thank you. It's been a pleasure to meet you too, and I hope so too. What plans do you have for today. Michael?"

"I plan to go into town to find out what I need to enrol into college for either art or photography next year, also buy a camera and art supplies, I also plan on taking a trip to the local garden centre to pick some flower seeds and bulbs for the back garden."

"I hope you find what you are looking for in town and at the garden centre and also gain the information you require for college."

"Thank you. Miss Owens and I will see you when I get back, Dad. I should only be a couple of hours anyway."

"Okay. Michael. Take your time."

"Michael. If I may make a slight observation but I think you would look silly walking around town in your slippers." Miss Owens said, smiling.

I looked down and realised I had put my jacket on but had quite forgotten about my footwear. I looked at her and blushed for the second time, and Dad burst out laughing.

"Thank you for reminding me. Miss Owens." I said rather sheepishly and ran up the stairs, feeling like a complete horse's behind.

"Shall we go through into the kitchen. Miss Owens?"

I heard Dad ask as I reached the top of the stairs.

"Please. Mr Fairchild, call me Rebecca." I heard her reply.

"I much prefer Miss Owens for the present." Dad replied as he closed the kitchen door behind them.

I rushed into my bedroom and hastily changed into my shoes before rushing to the study. 'Why couldn't I shake the feeling that Miss Rebecca Owens was not all she turned out to be?' I thought as I opened the library door.

I soon found the answer when I spotted a note with my name on it hanging from the corner of the portrait.

I read: 'Did I not tell to be careful of who you invited into this house?'

I found the fountain pen and wrote: 'You mean Miss Owens is the witch?' and showed it to Sir Francis, who merely nodded his head and pointed to the corner of the painting.

I don't know why I did it even to this day, but I placed the paper at the corner of the painting, and he bent down and took it from me!

I rubbed my eyes and shook my head to un-see what had just happened and looked again at the painting, Sir Francis had returned to his desk and was writing a reply.

Wait a second! There was something different about this scene. Everything looked in place apart from the orange glow. I looked around my library and stood where I thought the artist must have stood and looked at it from his or her point of view.

There was the desk, window, chair, chest, and fireplace.... FIREPLACE! That was what was different, but how the..... in gods name had he lit the fireplace? Sir Francis must have seen the look on my face as I walked over the painting and took the paper from him, and shook his head but pointed at the note which read: 'Do not ask me how I lit the fireplace but think of where you can hide me and please not in the attic'

"How about the wardrobe in my bedroom behind my clothes or on the top shelf?" I whispered.

He gave this a moments thought and nodded as I handed the piece of paper back to him and watched as he threw the two pieces into the fire and watched them burn.

'Put me upright behind your clothes, Michael. And don't worry, the fire will burn itself out. Does your door have a lock on it?'

"Not my bedroom door, but the wardrobe does."

'Good. Then, lock me in. I do not want that b***h finding me.'

I entered my bedroom and closed the door to so that it was still slightly ajar and opened my wardrobe selecting a jumper at random and tossing it on the bed and then deposited Sir Francis inside whispering:

"Good luck and I will be back as soon as I can."

'Please hurry back Michael as we have much work to do.' He whispered back as I closed the the doors, locking the wardrobe, taking the key with me and swapping the jacket for the jumper, taking the jacket with him and leaving the house.